Day Eleven NaPoWriMo resurrection edition

My poem for today is still struggling to survive so I thought I'd post this poem from NaPoWriMo 2006

Oh, Lord, please forgive us

The indigenous people along the Black Warrior River
built mounds in a soft green park setting near what would
become the town of Moundville, Alabama. Abandoned
sometime in the 1500’s after 500 years of use, archeologist
are still trying to understand the cultural and religious uses
of the twenty-six earthen mounds.

But what boys from Hale County High remember is that
on the Saturday night before Easter, the park would be busy
with the reenactment of Jesus’ last days. This was the one occasion
it was alright to keep young ladies out all night, wrapped
inside a blanket, hands wherever you wanted them to be
as you wound your way from mound to mound to witness
the performance. The park grew crowded near dawn,
the sunrise service drawing close, a lanky boy
ready to be Christ; hung on the cross, his blonde wig
tangled in thorns. A procession would move up
the highest mound, where floodlights would substitute
for sun if the weather failed; below on-lookers
in the shadows would watch the white Jesus, atop
the largest mound, the one believed to hold tribal elders
and holy men, and as one, as a wave, would shade their
eyes to enlightenment.